Adeste Fideles
by FFcrazy15
Summary: The gang reminisces one cold winter's night about Christmas traditions past and present, including one piano-playing priest. Sort of a F*L*O*C*K 4077 piece, but really includes all the main characters (though only two are listed). Happy Advent!


Disclaimer: I don't own M*A*S*H, Joy to the World, Adeste Fideles_,_ or The Night Before Christmas; I don't profit, no copyright infringement intended.

**M*A*S*H**

It was one week to Christmas, and as Hawkeye walked into the officer's club, he blew on his chapped hands and rubbed them together. Though Korean winters were bitterly cold, they were also very dry, and only the barest dusting of white had sprinkled over the field hospital, making it look dreary and rather more like a prison camp than a winter wonderland. The cold grew even worse after the sun had fallen over the unit, as it just had. The officer's club, however, was warm and decorated with little tokens of Christmas cheer- streamers, bells, even a green cloth wreathe someone had sent from home.

"Toss me a beer, Igor," he called over to bartender.

"On your tab, sir?"

"Yeah." Igor flipped open his notepad and marked a price, down, then dug a canned beer out from the storage and tossed it to him. Hawkeye caught it midair and opened the lid. He took a sip and found that strangely, the only thing worse than a warm beer in the middle of a freezing Korean winter's eve is a cold one.

The door opened behind him, and Fr. Mulcahy walked in, curling his fingers in and out. "Hey, Father," Hawkeye said amiably. "Looks like Hell finally froze over."

"I wouldn't doubt it. I dropped my rosary in the snow," the priest said, tucking the beads into his pocket. "Do you know it's very hard to pray with numb fingers?"

"Can't say I've ever tried. Want a beer?"

"No, I'll pass; I thought I'd try my hand at the piano. Let's see if my playing is better than my praying, hm?"

"Go for it," the doctor said with a grin. As the priest sat down at the bench, the door opened again, and Hawkeye looked over. "Hey, Beej. Come to warm up?"

"Yeah," the mustached doctor replied, as Fr. Mulcahy began to clumsily plunk through _Joy to the World._ "Igor, a beer?"

"Coming right up, sir." A moment later, another can flew through the air. B.J. caught it just as the door was opening, and Margaret jumped in surprise.

"Oh, sorry, Margaret," B.J. said, grinning.

"That's alright. Oh, it's absolutely _frigid!"_ she huffed, walking inside. She was followed by Col. Potter, Radar, Charles, and Klinger, who was dressed in army fatigues (for once) as well as his black leather boots, an over-sweater and a lady's overcoat.

"Kind of overkill, don't you think, Klinger?" Hawkeye noted.

"Hey, you won't be joking when you all catch pneumonia and I have to take care of your sorry behinds," Klinger said confidently. Hawkeye shrugged and took another drink of his beer.

Soon drinks were served all around, each drinking from a can or glass. The group hung around the bar table and piano, talking reminiscently of their families back home.

"Ah, Peg'll be putting up ornaments on the tree," B.J. said, smiling. "She never remembers to do that until a good week before Christmas."

"So does my ma," Radar said, nodding. "You know, she always makes the best Christmas dinner. Turkey, cranberry sauce, canned fruits- and what are those pies called, the ones with almonds and brown sugar and stuff?"

"Mince?" Hawkeye suggested.

"Yeah, mince pies. Delicious, you guys wouldn't believe it! She even let me have a little glass of wine." His eyes lit up. "Hey, maybe she'll send me a pie in the mail! That'd be fantastic, huh?"

"Ah, that's nothing," Klinger said dismissively. "My mom makes a whole Christmas Eve dinner every year, and then lunch for Christmas Day! She makes this pastry, ma'amoul ashta. Delicious."

"After dinner, Dad and I'd always go down to the park," Hawkeye said, eyes crinkling as he smiled. "See they'd string up lights every year, just for Christmas. A whole sort of 'magic forest' deal, you know? We'd go walk, talk about patients, the clinic, that sort of thing. Picture perfect."

"Mildred and I used to do something like that," Col. Potter reminisced. "Then after it got too cold for her joints we started staying in, sitting in front of the fire, drinking hot cocoa, that sort of thing. Just sit there, not talking, just thinking… pure heaven."

"That's beautiful," Margaret said, smiling kindly. "I usually go out with a few friends, a Christmas party, that sort of thing. But when I was little…" Her eyes grew distant, happy. "Oh, my mother would always read this one book to me- it was a rhyming book, something to do with a man in his cap going to the window and seeing Santa Clause."

_"The Night before Christmas?"_ B.J. suggested.

"Yes, that's it!" she cried, overjoyed. "'The night before Christmas and all through the house-'"

"'Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse,'" B.J. finished, laughing.

"I suppose some things are the same everywhere," Charles agreed, a smile touching the corners of his cheeks. "When we were just tots, Honoria and I would wait up to see Santa Clause come down the chimney. We always fell asleep before we ever could, of course… our parents would move us to our beds and then stuff the stockings with toys and candies."

"Yeah, I did that, too," Hawkeye agreed. Radar and Klinger chimed in with the same.

"'Stockings hung by the chimney with care,'" B.J. quoted again. "'In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.'" Everyone fell contentedly silent, remembering happy times of Christmases past.

Familiar old cords came from the piano, _Adeste Fideles__, _and all turned over to look. Fr. Mulcahy started out with gusto, but then slowly the song began to fade off quieter and quieter, until it could no longer be heard. The priest stopped and wiped his eyes, hands shaking.

There was silence in the Officer's Club. He glanced back and winced as he realized everyone was looking at him, saying sheepishly, "I-I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it," Hawkeye answered evenly. "You alright?"

"What? Oh, yes, fine. Fine." He tried to smile. It didn't really work.

"You sure?" the doctor said doubtfully.

"Oh, it's nothing, nothing…"

"C'mon, Father; what's the story?" Klinger said knowingly.

"…Well, it's just…" He hesitated, and then admitted, "When I was young, my parents- well, they weren't really religious at all. Very hard drinkers, you understand. And there was never much money, not with five children, so we never had much of a Christmas- no Santa, no gifts, no tree." His eyes were distant. "But every Christmas Eve, Cathy would wake all us children up before midnight and bring us to the Vigil Mass at the old St. Mary's Church." His voice shook slightly as he said, "To this day I remember the choir singing _Adeste Fideles_ as the opening hymn. It was the most… beautiful thing I've ever heard." He wiped his eyes again and ducked his head, embarrassed.

Hawkeye glanced around at the others. "Hey, Father, why don't you play that song again," the doctor said finally.

Fr. Mulcahy looked over in surprise, and then smiled gratefully. He nodded and turned back to the piano, playing the opening chords. Hawkeye nodded to the others and began to faux-conduct. Obligingly, the group of friends began to sing.

"_Oh come, all Ye faithful,_

_Joyful and triumphant._

_Oh come Ye, oh come Ye_

_To Bethlehem…"_

As the impromptu choir continued to sing, outside, clean, white snow softly began to fall.


End file.
